Through A Painting Of Liquid Eyes

~oh MonaLisa men have so unmade you~

You held the olive branch between your sharp little teeth

moving through the ferns and the greens

Leonardo in his coupe de ville

painting the world with storm wheels dipped in ocher

abandoning  old walls

and academic lock boxes

to

Van Gogh in the background with his pastel canvas wrapped

around a young child

threaded through

fingertips tasting  skin

the young girl's eyes hollow holes

as she learned the topography

of a sorceress

with her melodic hands

 

He fell through another mile of silence

bills scattered across the mahogany desk

 golden demoness above the mantle

drinking in his senses with  liquid ink eyes

she had left pride inside an overturned urn a long time ago

for the delicate comforts of immobility between the borders

of a cherry wood frame

 

She fumbled with the silver clasps of her latex bindings

inside silk flames

a rose flicking petals through the ash

as a snake charmer flashed his killer smile

coaxed her from the massacre of inks inlaid

in a parchment of human skin

and ideals

unburdening her sinuous enchantments

laying her hips against a slice of heaven

scaled and adorned

a ring of rubies encircling the bird bones of her wrists

 

She said. . . .

no more praise

no more lies

I'm an animal with wounds

dressed to kill

crouched inside a terrible calm

my hands over my eyes

luminous in a skin made of vespers

and blood splatters coloring museum walls

she overthrew his senses with the painting of her alloy irises

and threw back the cherry shot

outdrew him with bullets scattering silver bodies across the floor

moved through the canvas

into the thunderstorm beating down

her melody

out into a sheet of rain

her colors running into the concrete

as the sound of violins echoed from a paradox of golden circlets

embedded in the fluctuations of quantum entanglement theory

 

He picked her up in his yellow honey bee

and she leaned back

running hues of green and lavender from beneath her raincoat;

"Take me to Manhattan." she whispered

her liquid eyes

solidifying

 

 

copyright:2009vssmd/pa.inc

ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

 

excerpt from. . . .

Reviews

[Jonathan Ballam]

You certainly have a knack when telling a somber tale. Your words echo the idiosyncrasies of the unspoken voices, floating in the background.

I realize that this is an excerpt, but as a poem it only really worked for me up until the line "a ring of rubies encircling the bird bones in her wrists". After that it felt too much like prose (which is what it's meant to be I suppose).

Anyhow, thanks again for sharing. You definitely have a unique style, and not to mention, deliciously readable one :D

[Andrew Wright]

I've never done drugs, but I'd imagine that it might be something like reading your work... You take me higher than I thought possible, leaving me addicted, craving more and more every time.

[Nancy S.]

Skillful painting to set the scene before the readers eyes~ Each piece of this book is a book, a story, a set of characters all their own. This is the fourth book in the line of releases, and it leaves the reader with the knowledge that there is so much more writing talent than the three previous poetic and semi biographical prose of the first three books has revealed. Here the poet unvails herself, the writer. And as a reader of her lore, I sink into each poetic, especially this one, and I hear the story behind the verse... incorporating the readers imagination into a piece of writing is a mark of great talent. This is what you do, Selene, with this poetic, this book...

[Alex]

I loved the passion you put into this!
It was exquisite.

[misunderstood]

i loved this. the passion and feeling behind every word and description. it was wonderful.

[Larry Dyson]

love these descriptions"He fell through another mile of silence
bills scattered across the mahogany desk
golden demoness above the mantle
drinking in his senses with liquid ink eyes
she had left pride inside an overturned urn a long time ago
for the delicate comforts of immobility between the borders
of a cherry wood frame

She fumbled with the silver clasps of her latex bindings
inside silk flames
a rose flicking petals through the ash
as a snake charmer flashed his killer smile
coaxed her from the massacre of inks inlaid
in a parchment of human skin
and ideals
unburdening her sinuous enchantments
laying her hips against a slice of heaven
scaled and adorned
a ring of rubies encircling the bird bones of her wrists"

very "visual and visceral"

[Brad]

you're like a drug...something hallucinatory...taking me on a vivid trip so surreal it melts my mind like syrup...

[Amber Betty Marie Child..]

very nice as always, never seeing the painting the same again, keep up with the analytical psychedelic like swag, really dig it, big fan

[dovetailer]

you absorb your reveries into your pores through every sense...sight, feel hearing.and you lay them onto the page like a Jackson color painting...often we we just see a carnival of sensation...a drip here...a splash there...a strategically placed drip of intense passion...an ejaculation of spiritual wonder that leaves me ovrtwhelmed

[Pax Analog]

Your lines are frequently a welcome riotous joy ride, no matter the underlying theme.

The hinge consideration to this piece makes me stroke my goatee thoughtfully, w/a "Hmmmm. . ." Because Ninja Grrrl is putting on Mona Lisa's mask and going to town. So it all depends on what one thinks of Mona Lisa. Secret avenger of all womankind subjected to patriarchy behind the fabled enigmatic smile? I'd rather have rescued Camille Claudel for that role. Two thoughts come to mind when I ponder the Mona Lisa painting: the peculiar politics of what constitutes the canon of painting art, and the likewise peculiar reference re the Smile: It most resembles MY OWN in a photo of me at the age of 7 or 8. Odd, yes?

You know I love, as do many, the Bushido Sword Grrrl and her other incarnations goin' to town. The Mona Lisa hinge is paradoxical. I think the NAME Mona Lisa is more interesting than the painting or even the Smile. A film, a Wm. Gibson novel, Mona Lisa Overdrive. . .I don't find an imprisoned hellcat in the painting's smile, nor quite a Buddha, tho' I find a strange signifier of my own childhood.

Truth be told, I suspect a model of vacuity lies behind the painting, and its, to me, overblown reputation.

I just don't think Mona Lisa is up to your enthralling exercise. Maybe she attracts so many riffs 'cause she's an effin' BLANK. Blank Generation then? Bushido Sword Grrrl as Richard Hell? ;-)

"no more praise/no more lies/I'm an animal with wounds/dressed to kill/crouched inside a terrible calm/my hands over my eyes"

Mystery Grrrl.

You know who REALLY needs this treatment, from a different slant? Hypatia, beautiful Alexandrian pagan philosopher and scientist from the 5th century ripped asunder by rabid Christian monks. http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Hypatia